We'll talk in a cave
of the desperate membrane
and live there each day amidst falter.
​
I have holes in my hands
so can't eat m&m's.
I eat silver and oil from the coffin.
​
In the lying department,
great lions stand giant,
reshaping the genital craze.
​
from HELTER SKELTER
and if that poem were a sound,
it would be swept in d minor,
as though were feeling sorrow.
​
and if that poem were a taste,
it would be of your mouth softly opened
because it tastes perfect.
​
and if that poem were a season,
it would be winter for I remember them white
and white was very sweet spots.
​
from IF I WERE TO WRITE A POEM ABOUT YOU
Since the center of the prism
is often a prison,
the hostages don't move their heads.
​
And because the fare collector goes home poor
to fry candles in a dimly lit home
and sip catastrophe tea.
​
Because I miss you more
than I miss being young
or being now or being me.
​
And because we balance on a dry branch
over a tremendous white hole,
hacking the soul into quarters.
Tell me what the girl that they pulled from the water looked like.
from THE IMPOSTER
In chartreuse and grey, a sad little pasting
of time against time.
​
It was the middle of summer and I was resting
my head against a ladder
for a lonely man to see.
I pictured his hands in my mouth,
how by the time we're done it's a pencil sketch.
​
from DID THE LIGHTS JUST FLICKER
​
Hasn't been dead all this time,
just lost
in the white pipes of your dark and square hands,
in the echo of the entrance
where the tiniest booms course a chopped up us
through a cataract casing of blue.
​
I was in love as I limped over a tray
of suicide puffs.
​
We should take care of each other.
from LIFE PATH #9
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And the pen streams the page like Ouija,
banging out tomorrow's wrongs.
​
While the planet swoons like a wet pendulum,
may it be rich with beer and pistachios.
​
And while the sun paints the eggplants and car hoods with gloss,
may we wrestle with evil and win.
​
Follow the ox to the novice.
He waits on the frontline with 2 pewter fists.
​
from HALFWAY TO HERE
My drink is Easter blue,
has and always will be.
​
Drafted three chapters of you,
cut away your conscience,
your body spool.
​
Walked the entire thunderstorm,
boiled in jackets of exceptional cowards.
​
from ATTENDED BY MEMORIES IN A DARK BAR
In baby blue bloom,
needle in the cream of her cheek,
they didn't speak,
just started to turn,
slowly at first then a little faster,
faster till they were none but a whirl
funneling back down into cystic unrest.
​
Instant but seemed to take forever.
​
from I BELIEVE YOU REALLY DID SEE GHOSTS
Shoemaker, shoemaker hung by the laces,
clung to the cross like a raw slice of bacon,
the paragon heart,
painted blue,
peels,
peels away without you.
Had I known that to be our last time,
I'd have purposely looked in the lens.
from THROUGH GOSSAMER
​
Whisper Juju in the hothouse,
braiding his hair towards the ache.
It's not a face underneath the tight hood,
weeping at the hole.
It's a brain,
soft in its chamber as mayonnaise.
from JUJU
She'll be the workhorse,
draining hamburger from the long pores of her nose,
compelled to kneel indifferent.
Sometimes we dream the killer is petting our hair and he is.
Sometimes we dream that the gate is up and we'll swim freely through
but it isn't and our forehead meets iron.
​
from THE PENITENT MARY MAGDALEN
For a new season is about to flourish.
For an inkblot sky will drape over my town
like a heavy cutlet.
For a speed towards change with insatiable joy.
For my name on his lips is not taken for granted.
For the egg that drops and does not break.
For soup that serves as a magical elixir.
For yesterday's newspaper blowing riverside
on a tedious day in Paris.
​
from SPEAR
In spirit clearance,
comatose love,
the mechanical man toils routine like a skipping record,
record.
Living like the liquid inside of a level,
the capsule aligns firmer,
tighter.
Take this nylon tongue and bite it.
It shall poke from the cave nightly.
​
from LIAR'S DIGEST
The manta ray,
stuck to her stone,
alone with a miscarried heart,
cries as one in a crystal shoal
where once there were two and a tickle.
​
from THIS KIND OF ENDLESS
Take this bread and defend what you know.
That's what you said when we sat on the platform,
practically knee to knee
while a congregation of slender birds fest on the pathos pure,
bending their necks towards our tender burden,
choral in their grief.
​
from ALAS WE SEE